Rafael did not want to be here.
He wanted a desk, a pen, a stack of documents, and the mild illusion of control. Instead, he stood half a step behind Gabriel, holding a thick meeting folder like it was a weapon, with six junior secretaries lined up behind him like a tiny, overworked battalion ready to storm a battlefield.
The Coming of Age Annual Ball planning meeting.
The one involving both Damian and Gabriel.
The one notorious for ending careers, sanity, and two ministers' positions if they are judging Gabriel's ability to rule again like last month.
Gabriel walked with serene confidence, glowing in pale gold, one hand resting lightly over his stomach. Rafael tried to match that calm. He failed miserably.
"We'll go over the logistics first," Gabriel murmured as they approached the council room. "Then protocol. Then security. And no one, absolutely no one, is allowed to change the ceremony lineup again."
Behind Rafael, his junior secretaries straightened like soldiers about to charge into artillery fire.
"Yes, Your Highness," Rafael whispered.
Rafael stepped into the council room and immediately regretted every life choice that led him here. The space was already full: Damian sat at the head of the table, calm and impossibly composed in black and gold, while ministers lined the sides in stiff rows, protocol officers hovered with the energy of people one comment away from screaming, and two generals looked like they were preparing for combat.
And right in front of Rafael's assigned seat sat Gregoris, not the silent Shadow dressed for war, but Gregoris as Duke of Alamina.
For a split second Rafael forgot how to move. The transformation was unsettling in a strangely elegant way. Gregoris wore deep midnight velvet, intricate silver embroidery, and a royal blue sash that draped across him like it had been tailored directly onto his bones. Even his posture had shifted into something aristocratic, controlled, and far too regal for the man Rafael remembered nearly fainting around.
He looked both familiar and alarmingly new, still a weapon, but now polished, framed, and politically untouchable.
Gabriel kept walking, serene as ever, so Rafael forced himself to follow and slid into the chair opposite Gregoris. He kept his eyes down, acutely aware of the man sitting across from him and telling himself repeatedly that it was fine. It was absolutely fine. He could do this. He was a professional. He would not dissolve into dust because Gregoris looked like a portrait commissioned to intimidate entire nations.
Damian opened the meeting, speaking with that steady authority that made half the table straighten instinctively. Rafael listened, or tried to, until the moment he stood to present his section and accidentally met Gregoris's cool eyes.
His voice almost cracked.
He pushed through the briefing anyway, papers trembling a little between his fingers, pretending to be unbothered while Gregoris listened with the mild interest of someone evaluating a document rather than a person. It wasn't unkind. It was just… composed. A level of calm Rafael desperately wished he possessed.
By the end of the meeting he was exhausted, relieved, and a little humiliated, though he managed not to fling himself out a window in front of the imperial court.
When the chairs scraped back and everyone rose, Gregoris stood with an easy, aristocratic confidence Rafael had never seen on him before. He gave Rafael a polite nod before turning away and stepping into a discussion with one of the ministers.
Gabriel touched Rafael's arm lightly, indicating he was staying behind with Damian.
"Give us a few minutes," Gabriel murmured. "We'll join you shortly."
Rafael nodded, gathered his notes, and shepherded the junior secretaries out like a tired mother duck herding anxious ducklings. Once the hallway was cleared and the door shut behind the last terrified intern, Rafael let himself sag against the wall for one quiet breath.
He needed a moment. Preferably ten. Maybe an hour.
Gregoris had sat across from him the entire meeting like a portrait come to life, elegant and unreadable, and Rafael's nerves were still vibrating.
He checked his planner, pretending to reorganize his notes while waiting for Gabriel and Damian to finish their private discussion. The corridor was quiet, polished marble reflecting the early afternoon light.
A shadow shifted behind him.
Rafael stiffened but didn't turn. He knew exactly who moved like that.
A low voice, smooth and far too amused, murmured near his ear,
"You ignored me a month ago."
The words slid down his spine like cold water. He didn't turn right away; he needed one precious second to compose his face, his soul, and every cell that threatened to flee the premises.
"Your Excellency…" he forced out, very politely, very tightly, "I did not ignore you."
Gregoris stepped into his peripheral vision with the unhurried grace of a man who'd never once rushed in his life.
"You walked past me in the west corridor without blinking," Gregoris murmured. "I even said your name."
Rafael winced. "I was… under emotional duress."
"Hmm… yes, the date," Gregoris murmured.
Rafael flinched. Of course Gregoris would bring that up here, in a hallway where Rafael could absolutely die of shame and no one would find his body for hours.
"It… it wasn't what you think," Rafael said quickly. "I wasn't ignoring you. I was… overloaded."
Gregoris tilted his head, his gaze sharpened with a quiet, predatory curiosity. "Overloaded," he repeated. "Yet you went on the date."
"It was scheduled," Rafael whispered defensively. "Delphine made it sound like national policy."
Gregoris hummed, not quite approving, not quite amused. "And it went well."
Rafael stiffened. "How do you know that?"
"Gabriel talks," Gregoris said simply. "He thought it was endearing."
Rafael wanted to sink through the floor. "I didn't say it went well."
"You just did."
Rafael's face burned. "Fine. It went… fine. Good, even. Augustus is very…"
"Stable?" Gregoris offered, entirely polite.
"Yes," Rafael said too fast. "Stable is good." His knuckles were white from the force with which he clenched on the planner in hopes that it would calm him.
"And I'm not stable?" Gregoris asked, entirely too smoothly.
Rafael made a sound somewhere between a squeak and a dying prayer. "That's not what I meant."
Gregoris took a step closer, just enough for Rafael to feel a shift in the air between them. "But Rafael, you know Kent values honesty. Does he know that he has competition?"
Rafael's brain did something unhelpful, like shutting down all higher functions and leaving only panic and the ability to sweat.
'Competition.'
'Kent had competition.'
'He meant himself. He meant himself. He absolutely meant himself.'
Rafael forced his spine straight, clutched his planner like it was a holy artifact, and managed, somehow, to make his voice work.
"…Your Excellency," he whispered, horrified, "there is no competition."
"Yes," Gregoris said mildly. "And I submitted a formal courting request the following day."
Rafael stopped breathing altogether.
"You…you WHAT?"